


Dragon Gifts

by Clocketpatch



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nurse Rory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:57:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clocketpatch/pseuds/Clocketpatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ponds, you are going to love this. They've got the most beautiful scales. So vibrant. It's like a living stained-glass window."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dragon Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> * * *

  
_"Challenge is a dragon with a gift in its mouth... Tame the dragon and the gift is yours."_

\- Noela Evans

 

Living stained glass, they stood in wonder, but then windows broke and there was glass all over and it wanted to kill them.

Of course, they escaped.

Rory's first concern was his wife. She'd been caught in the dragons' smoke and kept drifting in and out of wakefulness.

The Doctor explained that it was just an organic opiate, a harmless tranquilizer, and that the effects would wear off after a few hours sleep. Rory knew enough about the degree requirements for becoming an anesthesiologist to mistrust a dragon's dosing abilities and to be wary of the Doctor's diagnosis. He got Amy into bed and watched her for a good half hour, carefully monitoring her breathing.

It was only when he leaned forward to straighten her hair that Rory realized that his clothes were creaking. The Doctor's blood was stuck and dried all down his front. Rory stood up. Bits of dark, reddish-orange blood flaked off.

It hit Rory that he had no idea where the Doctor had gone. For all Rory knew, the Doctor might have bled to death in a corner, though Rory had a feeling that the TARDIS would have alerted him if that were the case. The ship had a funny way of doing that. The last Rory remembered the Doctor had been rambling about having a shower. He'd seemed steady on his feet, but...

Rory had offered to check the Doctor over and the Time Lord had agreed to it. He never agreed, and now Rory had gone and left him alone for nearly forty minutes.

Damn it. Make sure everyone was okay. Don't let injured patients out of your sight. He'd been trained in this. He knew this.

Rory stalked out into the hall, knowing that he shouldn't be leaving Amy unsupervised. Why couldn't there be two of him? A Rory for Amy, and a Rory for chasing after the Doctor?

A few turns down the hall revealed a door with a green crescent moon and a mauve cross on it. Rory entered.

The Doctor was on his back on the main exam table. He’d stripped to the waist. His bloody, torn shirt was nowhere in sight. Rory suspected he’d thrown it down the waste chute.

He was conscious. That hadn’t been a given. Rory knew by now that the Doctor lied. A lot. If he scraped a knee or bruised a finger the whole world would know his agony, but anything serious and he suddenly all smiles, shrugging it off like nothing had happened. It was infuriating, but Rory had seen it all before. Patients hid their wounds all the time, even while coming into the A&E to get help for them. It was stupid, but it was human.

The Doctor wasn’t human. He was lying so still and pale. His skin caught the light in odd ways. Shadows collected along his ribs and face. He looked primordial, half formed. He reminded Rory of some Michelangelo’s he’d seen once (In a book? In person? In a world without stars?); Unfinished sculptures called the prisoners, their limbs extended imploringly out of their marble blocks.

The Doctor wasn't trapped in stone, but in some weird way he seemed to be cocooned in space, like the room itself was pressing its way towards him. Rory took a step forward. His thoughts shifted from Renaissance art to gravity wells.

The only movement from the Doctor was his eyes. They were dark and half-lidded under the Doctor’s heavy brow. They followed Rory as he crossed the room.

“Thanks for actually cooperating this time,” Rory said.

The Doctor said nothing.

He was pale marble. The four angry slashes across his chest looked like they’d been painted on — Four quick red brush strokes. They were crusted along the edges. The Doctor had restarted the bleeding during his shower, but it wasn’t as severe as before, just a slight welling that made the wounds look shiny.

Rory pushed away the involuntary memory of the wounds before, when they’d first got away from the dragons and there was blood all over the place and Amy was limp in his arms and then —

“Can you move your left arm?” Rory asked. “Is it numb anywhere?”

The Doctor said nothing. His thin eyebrows may have raised slightly, but Rory was just as convinced that he was imagining it. The Doc tor’s eyes were open though, and he was following movement if not direction.

“I’m concerned that the claws might have damaged your pectoralis muscles,” Rory said. Technically, he wasn’t concerned — he _knew_. Cuts didn’t go that deep without some muscle damage. If they were lucky, that would be all it was.

The Doctor wriggled his fingers but didn’t move his arm. Rory realized that he was smiling faintly.

"You got your shirt off on your own," Rory said, "and your jacket."

"I did."

Rory pressed his lips together and bent over to examine the claw marks. The shininess wasn't just blood, he realized. There was some kind of clear membrane stretched over each slash mark. The wounds were clean, and while Rory would normally suggest stitches, they seemed to be healing already without them.

The Doctor sat up. The lighting in the infirmary shifted from wane-blue florescent to something more orangey. The Doctor looked instantly healthier.

"Satisfied with your observations, Nurse Rory?"

"You — " Rory extended his pointer finger. He'd just noticed an empty jar of something called "wound-o-shield" in the bin. "You already treated yourself. You were just humouring me."

"Honestly Rory, you get angry if I let you fuss and you get angry if I don't. One, I'm not going to wait all day splatting blood around; the TARDIS doesn't like cleaning it up. And two, I'm not going to lay down and let you do something barbaric with a needle and catgut when I've got skin restoration gel in stock… mind, that was the last jar so you might get to practice your sewing next time. I really hope there's not a next time. Getting attacked by a broody glasside dragon is no fun at all."

Rory was livid. The Doctor had on a silly little grin like he'd just done something terribly clever.

"You can't do that," said Rory.

"Can't do what?"

"Can't pretend. If you're hurt, if you need help, I need to know. I can't always be guessing."

"Rory, I am capable of taking care of myself."

"In theory or in practice?"

"In both!"

Rory raised an eyebrow.

"That's the theory anyway," said the Doctor.

"You're impossible," said Rory.

"You can give me a full examination if it makes you feel better. I'll cooperate and everything." The Doctor moved back over to the examination table.

"Is anything actually wrong?" asked Rory.

"A dragon took a swipe at disembowelling me earlier; I'd say that counts as…"

"Doctor," Rory said, using his best no-nonsense nurse voice.

The Doctor back pedalled swiftly"…But I've already treated it and my immune system should take care of any possible infection, and before you ask Rory, yes I did _clean_ it before putting the gel on."

Rory watched the Doctor carefully for any signs that the Time Lord was hiding something. There was no tell-tale sway, no hesitations, no shallow breathing. With nothing else to go on, Rory had to accept that he was fine.

"How's Amy?" asked the Doctor.

"Fine, sleeping."

"And you?"

"Fine."

The Doctor reached out and poked Rory in the chest as if testing his solidity.

"You should change. You've got my blood all over your shirt."

"Yeah, I should. You going to be alright if I leave you?"

"I was thinking rest and plenty of fluids."

"Do that. I'll be getting back to my wife. And my shirt."

Rory headed towards the hall, absently picking at the gore dried into his sleeve. He thought that rest and plenty of fluids sounded like a good bit of advice for everyone. Maybe a nice cup of tea while he watched over Amy…

"And Rory," the Doctor said softly, before Rory could leave the room. Rory looked back over his shoulder. The Doctor smiled at him: "Thank you."

 

_fin_

 

* * *

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
This story archived at <http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=42977>


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